The winter night was colder and darker than most. Eerie patterns of frost crawled across the glass window panes that reflected the black hours of the morning, as a draught crept through the corridors, chilling the castle’s inhabitants and creeping into their unconscious thoughts.
A young girl walked quickly and quietly across the cold stone floors, the flame of her candle flickering softly as it fought against the conflicting currents of her short breaths and the icy zephyr of the night.
The girl shivered as she turned the corner and a particularly strong gust stole in from an open window, taking the light of her candle. It seized her black hair in its grasp and lifted it into a flowing stream as she approached the open night and reached to draw the glass door to a close. And then, a whisper, a sharp breathe of a voice…
“Minerva.”
She spun, her tartan night robe sweeping the floor around her and falling still again with a few soft swishes. She brought her hand to her chest, where her heart was pounding madly.
“Tom “ what in the heavens “ ”
“I should ask you the same.”
[- are you doing up at this hour?”]
Minerva blinked at the dark-haired boy; the shadowed expression upon his pale face was inscrutable. He stepped forward, his dark eyes fixed intently upon her face, leaning towards her…
…And that familiar sensation overtook her. She was breathless unable to catch hold of the air around her that was rushing upwards, as though gravity was pulling her down through space…
His hand drew the window shut behind her, and it was though there was a sudden rush of warmth against her bare neck as the glass guarded her against the winter’s gale.
“You seem to have high-regard for the rules, Minerva, and yet here I find you prowling the halls past midnight.”
“I am not prowling,” Minerva proclaimed in her defence. “I was restless, I thought I’d go for a small stroll…”
“Past Professor Dumbledore’s office?” Tom asked, a smirk of cruel amusement painted across his thin lips. “You were walking rather quickly for someone just taking a midnight stroll…”
“What are you implying?” Minerva asked, flustered.
“I’m sure all of Hogwarts knows how the Gryffindor prefect won favour with her Head of House,” he said icily. "Dumbledore’s favourite girl, aren’t you, Minerva?”
Minerva stared at the boy, livid at his insinuations. She was trembling. Quivering from fear of what truths lay in his words, and tremulous from the nearness of him, the slither of his voice under her skin and into her mind
“Do your fabrications console your fears, Tom?” Minerva said in a voice stronger than her emotions. “Professor Dumbledore knows of your treachery, and as your power of invention is not enough to fool him, you use it to comfort your own thoughts. Is that it?”
“Treachery?” Tom laughed and slid closer to her, lifting his cold hand and holding her face to his. “One of the lies he whispers in your ear when you are alone with him?”
Minerva jerked away from him, and his hand released but he stepped closer.
“Professor Dumbledore does not tell me lies about fellow students, Tom. But I see the way his eyes rest upon you, and there is no trust. He does not show the pride of the other professors, the optimism of Professor Slughorn… there is suspicion, and caution, and apprehension.”
“And your eyes rest upon me as though I am enigma,” Tom said softly, throwing Minerva’s logic to the side.
A game.
He plays games with people’s minds and hearts, and he wins.
Minerva stood tall against him, but words failed her and Tom let out a quiet laugh. He brought his hand to her long strands of black hair, and weaved his fingers through it, curling it and combing it… playing with it.
“Do I entrance you, Minerva?” he asked, his eyes traveling along her face and down… down along her body.
She wrapped her robe tightly around her and turned away from him slightly.
“Minerva…” he whispered, and her heart raced. “Dumbledore’s favourite girl…”
“Is that why you think you have something to gain from me?” Minerva said dangerously. “You shouldn’t make your intentions so clear, Tom.”
“And you shouldn’t make your desires so clear, Minerva.”
He pulled her to him by the waist, and took hold of her lips with his own, sliding his tongue inside her mouth and twisting every part of her with its motions. His sensuality was frightening, overwhelming, but Minerva let him take all of her. The taste of darkness enthralled her.
He pulled away, inhaling as though attempting to take a piece of her with him through his breath, and he smiled at her. It was not a warm smile, nor an obviously cruel one. It was a false smile “ a devil’s smile. His finger curled in her raven tresses again, and he looked upon her expectantly. She could see a glint in his eye that seemed to reflect the tartan of her robes.
“Goodnight, Tom,” she said firmly, and turned to walk away.
He grabbed her wrist and twirled her back towards him.
“Is that it?” he said, and there was biting venom in his voice that he did not hide well.
“Was there something more you were expecting? Perhaps you wanted me to fall at your knees and pour out my devotion to you? Tell you the secrets that you think exist, all because of the sensual spell you’ve cast upon me?”
He stared at her, and she could see the fury trembling inside him. He did not answer.
“Yes, Tom. That is all.”
And she left him in the darkness of the hour.